


Make Me Feel Like Somebody

by Kaiosea



Category: I Don't Care - Justin Bieber & Ed Sheeran (Song), Original Work
Genre: A Large Plant, Drinking and Being Drunk, Gen, M/M, POV Second Person, Party, Social Anxiety, Watches, post-college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28332348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiosea/pseuds/Kaiosea
Summary: You’re at a party you don’t want to be at. Ever since walking in, you couldn’t shake the idea that you just don’t belong here.(There’s only one person who can help with that.)
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2020





	Make Me Feel Like Somebody

**Author's Note:**

  * For [syzygetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syzygetic/gifts).



> This is later than I intended, but I hope you like the treat.

You’re at a party you don’t want to be at. Ever since walking in, you couldn’t shake the idea that you just don’t belong here. 

Part of the problem is the setting: This condo has thin walls and cold wooden floors. There’s a white fabric couch in the center of the room—what the hell kind of sadist buys a white couch? You’re scared to go near it, much less sit on it. There is a big-ass potted plant in the corner. It’s way too big. It caught your attention after you grabbed your last shot of Fireball whiskey (three down, ??? to go). The music is loud, but you feel like you can hear your every step treacherously announcing your presence. 

Part of the problem is the setpieces: Carolyn, your coworker who’s hosting, hadn’t said there would be this many people. You recognize like three of them from work, but the rest are all new to you. You got a few of their names when you first arrived: Regan, Melissa, Joe, but it felt like you didn’t have anything to talk about. It’s not like it’s Carolyn’s fault—she said hi to you when you dropped onto the doorstep. It doesn’t have to do with the _you being gay_ thing either, because as far as you can tell, most people here are queer. It comes with the territory of working this job—your second one out of college. 

But more than anything, you feel like the biggest part of the problem is you. You, who are now crowding yourself into the ludicrously huge plant, with dire consequences if you push yourself back too far. Its tall edges look sharp. You are wearing basic jeans and a black T-shirt. Many of the people at the party, gender notwithstanding, are wearing ties styled in a semi-casual, semi-formal manner. And, as if you could forget, it’s a masquerade; everyone is wearing that style of mask, which mostly obscures the top three-quarters of your faces. You didn’t have time to buy one of your own, so you picked one out of the bucket near the door—most of them are plain, neutral colors like black, grey or white. You’re not sure that you really understand the theme of the party, but Carolyn was specific. 

The mask helps. It helps a little. Unfortunately, you realized as soon as you came in that the mask would do less to obscure your identity than other people. You glance around the party and check your watch for the time. Yeah, it’s too early to be leaving. You really should have brought someone you know with you as moral support, but you underestimated this type of party. You feel like you underestimated yourself. 

Pondering this, you get up for a drink, leaving your spot to go pull a can out of a cooler. It’s a something something beer. You don’t know what kind it is and you don’t check the label; you know that you don’t like beer. It doesn’t taste good; you should have taken another shot instead. You don’t like taking shots either, but it is blessedly faster. You know that you don’t like beer, and yet you keep repeating yourself; this should be a sign to yourself that you’re already drunk. You look at your watch, like a nervous tic. You wish you could go back in time and never come to this party at all, but since you’re already here… 

Maybe another shot would have helped you deal with the fact that someone else has claimed your spot by the plant. 

Fuck. 

He’s wearing a hoodie, but you can see that he’s got a tie on, as well. 

You look around the room again. The other corners of the rooms, at least the ones you can easily see, are already taken by an assortment of corn chips, a couple blatantly making out, and aggressive Mario Karters, respectively. 

In a split second, you start moving back towards the plant, your footsteps echoing in your head. The guy standing over there—he’s the only one at the party whose skin tone resembles yours; this emboldens you just enough to keep walking. 

“Hi,” he says to you, first, as soon as you walk over. 

“Lawrence,” you say, trying to press yourself against the plant again. Fuck. You forgot to say hi. “Hi. Hey.” 

“I’m Michael,” he says. He’s wearing the same mask you are, one from the bucket at the door. 

“Yeah? That’s my middle name.” 

“Lots of people’s middle names,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving up. “Even more first names, I bet.” 

“I’ll look it up,” you say, taking the excuse to look at your phone. Michael patiently waits for you, singing along to some Justin Bieber song that you’ve been pretending not to notice or know the words to. Personally, you only sing in semi-public when you’re feeling comfortably drunk enough, and you still like to think you wouldn’t sing along to this one. 

As you search, the potted plant’s big, pointy leaves tickle your back, warning you not to come closer. 

You sigh. “It’s indeterminate.” 

“That’s a shame,” he says, swaying to the music. You glance up and down at the rhythm of his body with jealousy; you only move like that when you’re feeling confident, too. 

You try to stop checking your watch. It’s a nervous habit—you’re always checking it. 

“Nice watch, vintage,” he says, smirking a little. “What is that, a time-traveling device or something?”

You instinctively cover the watch with the palm of your other hand. “It’s just a family heirloom.” Changing the subject, you ask, “Where’d you get that hoodie?” Surprisingly, it’s a question motivated by genuine interest—maybe your first one of the night. The long-sleeved, grey hoodie looks exactly like something you would wear. 

He stares blankly into the distance, and you look over your shoulder. There’s nothing special there. “I’m borrowing it,” he says, and you get the feeling that you shouldn’t press him any further on the matter. 

He starts to push the sleeves of the hoodie up, then stops. He pokes his own side experimentally. 

“What are you checking for?” 

“Tenderness,” he says, laughing. So he’s drunker than you. You’re pretty drunk, though. You can laugh at that too, feeling your shoulders ease by a modicum of tension. Oh, but now he’s looking at you like he’s waiting for an answer to something. 

You try to pay attention. The music is loud, and you say, “What?” In return, he asks, seemingly repeating himself, “Do you want some cheese?” 

You do. He holds out his plate to you, offering a bevy of snacks. They’re all things that you like, surprisingly. You snack on a piece of cheese atop a cracker, and then you unceremoniously grab a handful of goldfish crackers and hold them in your palm, lacking your own plate. 

He crunches through a couple himself. As you chew, you think of something to say. 

“Ok this might sound stupid but… I thought these were made out of real goldfish when I was a kid,” you admit. 

“What? How?” He’s already smiling, and his eyes blinking through the mask look friendly. 

“I thought that they fried them. Or mashed ‘em up then fried them, I had never seen a goldfish in real life before… yeah.” 

He laughs, the plate shaking. “You know, I used to think something similar… I forgot about that.” 

You feel a smile coming on and stick more cheese into your mouth to stop it. 

An hour passes before you know it, and then another. It’s strange, but you feel like you can talk about anything with him. 

At some point, he puts his plate of snacks down on the plant’s soil, which is luckily flat. 

Later, you find yourself taking shots together. 

Even later than that, you’re falling into the plant and grabbing onto Michael as he tries to haul you erect. The plant warned you; you didn’t listen. You grab your side, feeling the tenderness where the broad green leaves poked you. 

“Ouch,” you mouth to him. 

He laughs and looks at his hands. You’ve already forgotten almost everything that you talked about, but it doesn’t matter; you enjoyed it. 

You think you understand what’s going on by now. It’s not the first time it’s happened to you, and it won’t be the last, but it’s the longest you’ve taken to figure it out; you blame it on being lavishly drunk. You feel, very strangely, grateful to him for showing up when he did. You were starting to get a little panicked, a little too overwhelmed. You hope to pay the favor forward soon. 

“I got to get going,” he says. You can see his mouth soften familiarly. 

“Can I get your number?” you say. You just want to confirm something. 

He laughs and agrees, so you hand your phone to him. He types his number in, and when you receive your phone back, you look at the screen and smile, too. He’s gone in a wink, and you take a long inhale. You exhale. 

You notice, suddenly, that there are half as many people as there were when you first walked in. You didn’t notice them leaving; all of your attention had been focused on your conversation. 

You finish your drink and step outside the party to get some air, and to do what you have to do. 

On the doorstep, there’s a discarded tie. On a bush next to the house is the grey hoodie you had so admired before. You check the brand before picking it up, making a mental note to use some of your next paycheck to buy the same one in black. 

You put on the hoodie and the tie and look at your watch. You tap on it a few times, taking a deep breath. As you close your eyes, you feel the world spin around you for a moment, and then you’re steadied. You open your eyes. It seems a little lighter outside. 

You’re standing outside the party. You feel like you’re somebody. You can depend on yourself. 

You go back inside.


End file.
